The New Recruit
by of-dalish-elves
Summary: Alistair's first encounter with the Grey Wardens. To summarize... it did not go quite like he expected.


Alistair was sitting in Duncan's camp, waiting for his host to return. The new recruit had been asked to dine with him that evening, but unfortunately, just as they were getting settled, the Warden Commander was whisked away to some urgent war tactic meeting. Or whatever those high-ranking officials were often whisked away to.

Alistair fidgeted with the straps on his armor. Duncan had told him to make himself comfortable, and promised that he would be back quickly. However, it had been over an hour since the Commander had left, and Alistair was beginning to feel uneasy. He wondered if Duncan had simply forgotten about him... or if he assumed that he would leave when the wait had become too long. But despite these thoughts, Alistair had no real urge to go. In fact, the thought of having to enter the main camp again made his stomach churn in anxiety. He had only recently been recruited into the Grey Wardens, so Duncan assured him that it was natural to feel out of place. But not _this_ out of place...

Duncan had recruited, or, more accurately, _rescued_ Alistair from the Chantry a little more than a week ago. He had spent his childhood there, much to his displeasure. And that was putting it lightly. The young man was more than glad to see the indignant face of the Reverend Mother as he walked out the doors, never to return.

Alistair spent the long journey to Ostagar relinquishing his old life and preparing for this new, far more glorious one. Whenever the word "warden" was mentioned, a childish giddiness arose in his veins and a grin spread across his face. He could not shake the image of himself riding into battle on the back of a noble griffon, saving all of Thedas from the evils of darkspawn. Alistair fully recognized that these notions were foolish and highly romanticized, and so he somewhat detached himself from them. Yes, he was picturing himself as the valiant soldier in shining armor, but his thoughts were no more than imaginations, the mere dreams of a child. It wasn't until the last day of travel that Alistair came to the full realization that he was going to be a Grey Warden.

Him. Alistair. The bastard who was taken in by a man who pretended to care for him, only to be shunted into the stables. The scrawny boy who was carted off to the Chantry with little remorse as soon as he was old enough. The mediocre Templar-in-training that couldn't seem to do anything right, or please anyone.

_A Grey Warden. _

When they had arrived at Ostagar, Duncan escorted Alistair to the Warden's camp site, and then left without word. It felt quite like he was being dropped off at the first day of school by his father... not that Alistair had ever had that experience.

The first Warden that Alistair met came crawling out of a tent with a bottle in hand. His hair was messy, his face unshaven, his linen shirt stained yellow. He eyed Alistair up and down, and then shouted, "Look laddies, we got ourselves a new recruit!" At his call, many more Wardens emerged from the tents scattered about the area. A few came to join the man, while others simply poked their heads out, while others groaned and pulled their tents tightly shut. Alistair noticed that the ones who approached him seemed to resemble the first man, while the ones retreating looked more... what was the word for it?... Dignified? Respectable? Not... drunk? If Alistair had the choice, he would have liked to become acquainted with the ones who remained in their tents. But seeing as they had the opposite idea, the new recruit returned to the situation at hand.

Alistair smiled nervously at the men gathered in front of him. He was unsure what to say, or even if he should be saying anything at all. He decided to wait for the others to initiate the conversation again, saving him the trouble of thinking of something witty. Or getting laughed at. The two usually coincided.

There was a moment of awkward silence as the Wardens observed the new soldier, sizing him up. Alistair was used to this; he had gone through the same process when he entered the Chantry. What he did not expect, however, was when a stout man from the back grunted, "So, how many women you bedded?"

"I... what?" Alistair sputtered, completely taken aback by the question.

His response caused a few Wardens to sneer, and they all looked at each other expectantly. Almost on cue, they broke out into a series of various murmurs:

"So we have a _chaste _one, do we?" a man remarked.

"Told you I could sense a virgin from a mile away," a Warden whispered to his friend.

"I mean it wasn't hard to spot," another man smirked. "Just look at his hair product."

At this comment, a great guffaw erupted from the men. Alistair instinctively ran his hands through his hair, which only made them laugh even harder. It wasn't even that much, just a bit of the salve that the Reverend Mother gave him to keep the stray hairs down... _oh Maker_. Alistair silently thanked Andraste that his mouth had decided to stay shut during those thoughts, unlike so many times before.

But the Wardens were still laughing mockingly, some of them on the ground, unable to control themselves. The new recruit remained stationary, wishing that he could do something, _anything, _besides just stand there and stammer. Or that a chasm in the ground would open up and swallow him whole. Yes, the second option seemed quite appealing at the moment.

"Guys, guys, calm down," a man said, wiping tears from his eyes. "Listen, we were virgins at some point too, right?" He grinned at Alistair, revealing several missing teeth. "We'll get you hooked up with someone soon, don't you worry."

Alistair wrinkled his eyebrows, unsure if this was supposed to be a kind gesture. It was _not,_ but these men's intentions were completely foreign to him.

"Yeah, there are plenty of elves around this place," another man suggested. "I'll even let you use mine for the night, if you wanted," he added, winking.

Alistair's mouth fell open in disgust. He wanted nothing more than to punch him in the face... he knew little of elves, but even he could recognize the terrible meaning behind the man's words. And the fact that his buddies were laughing with him, clearly approving of his actions... Fury boiled up in Alistair's veins, urging him to get out of this situation. _And fast._

"Excuse me, I need to go find my tent," Alistair stated coldly.

The man raised his eyebrows at Alistair, laughing mockingly. "Looks like someone isn't too happy, is he?"

"I just want to get to my tent," Alistair repeated.

"Yeah, well I don't think that's gonna happen," the man replied, taking a step closer to Alistair. "Not until you learn to respect your superiors."

"I'm sorry, but I don't really think someone who seems incapable of changing his clothing, smells of dog piss, and abuses women is my superior." Alistair said angrily, his jaw locking.

He thought he heard a laugh coming from somewhere in the field of tents, but he quickly forgot about it after seeing the expression on the accused man's face.

His features were set, but an angry red came creeping into his cheeks, and his eyes blazed like small fires. Alistair regretted his words immediately and began to back away.

"Erm, yeah, anyways," Alistair stuttered, losing his uncharacteristic bout of daring. "It was nice meeting you all. I'll just be... uh... going..."

He attempted to dart away, but one of the bigger Wardens caught his arm.

"Are you as much of an idiot as I think you are?" the angry man asked, walking towards the captured recruit.

"Well, yes, probably," Alistair said with a weak smile. "But I would still really appreciate it if you let go of me. Uh, please."

When there was no response, he continued, "There's no reason we can't settle this out peacefully. Maybe have a nice dinner, some cheese... I'll even let you have my ration..." But Alistair was cut off as the man twisted his arm around behind his back.

"Ow, yes, okay, that hurts just a bit," Alistair gasped.

"Now you're just asking for it," the man replied, cracking his knuckles menacingly.

Alistair was finally silenced, the pain and fear keeping words from coming out of his mouth. Just when the man was about to strike, a voice called out from the distance, "Let him go!"

The party stood still for a moment, confused. And then they parted, revealing the speaker. He was an elf, with long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. His eyes were a piercing blue, and a scar ran across his face. He was wielding a dagger, his expression deadly.

"Hey, how did you get a weapon into camp?" a man exclaimed.

"I have my ways," the elf hissed. "Now let him go, before I gut you all."

Most of the men quickly dispersed, clearly afraid of this small elf. The man holding Alistair released him, but the one who he had humiliated stood his ground.

"What should I care about a stupid knife-ear!" he shouted, spitting at the elf's feet.

The elf's face contorted in anger, and he deftly covered the distance between them. The human took a blundering swing, which the elf dodged easily. Catching him off balance, the elf kicked him to the ground with surprising strength, and hovered over him with the dagger.

"Don't you _ever_ call me that again, human," the elf snarled, his words laced with pure venom. "Lest you find yourself at the bottom of that bridge over there."

The human was breathing heavily, rabid fear shining in his eyes.

"And if I see you take another elf into your tent again, you can be sure that you will never be bedding another woman. _Ever."_

The elf remained above the man, his foot stuck strongly on his chest. He waved the blade around, as though deciding where to strike. He paused at his neck, thrusting downwards and pulling away just before he hit the flesh. The man whimpered, his chest pounding vigorously in fear. The elf simply laughed, then nicked a scratch on the human's cheek. He removed the force from his body, then spat, "Like anybody would willingly sleep with such a disgusting excuse for a human being."

Alistair chuckled hesitantly, but stopped when the elf turned to look at him. They made eye contact for less than a second, but Alistair felt as though he was piercing his soul with those eyes.

"And for the rest of you," the elf shouted, wielding his dagger toward the crowd. "If you speak of this, you'll get the same. Now come on, let's go."

Alistair stood there, gaping as the men cleared out. Had that really just happened? Had that truly been his very first encounter with the Grey Wardens? He wanted to get away from this scene, but his disbelief kept him rooted to the spot.

"Are you coming?" the elf said angrily, rounding on Alistair.

The recruit blinked, confused. "Oh, you're talking to me?" he asked.

"Wow, you weren't lying about that idiot part..." the elf muttered, turning away and walking through the crowd.

Alistair blushed, but followed him closely behind. He wove his way through the dispersed men, internally grinning at their terrorized expressions. The elf walked in silence, never looking back. Alistair couldn't help but wonder why he had chosen to intervene... why he had chosen to save him... and why he had asked him to follow.


End file.
